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when for the first time he looked on the smiling plain of
Sparta.
As he wandered he chanced to see Miss Price sitting by
herself on a bench. He hesitated, for he did not at that mo-
ment want to see anyone, and her uncouth way seemed out
of place amid the happiness he felt around him; but he had
divined her sensitiveness to affront, and since she had seen
him thought it would be polite to speak to her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, as he came up.
‘Enjoying myself. Aren’t you?’
‘Oh, I come here every day from four to five. I don’t think
one does any good if one works straight through.’
‘May I sit down for a minute?’ he said.
‘If you want to.’
‘That doesn’t sound very cordial,’ he laughed.
‘I’m not much of a one for saying pretty things.’
Philip, a little disconcerted, was silent as he lit a ciga-
rette.
‘Did Clutton say anything about my work?’ she asked
suddenly.
‘No, I don’t think he did,’ said Philip.
‘He’s no good, you know. He thinks he’s a genius, but he
isn’t. He’s too lazy, for one thing. Genius is an infinite ca-
pacity for taking pains. The only thing is to peg away. If one
only makes up one’s mind badly enough to do a thing one
can’t help doing it.’
She spoke with a passionate strenuousness which was
rather striking. She wore a sailor hat of black straw, a white
blouse which was not quite clean, and a brown skirt. She

Of Human Bondage